Swordplay
by RedHeadedViking
Summary: Grey Warden Delilah and Zevran banter and flirt around the campfire. Will Delilah finally act on her growing attraction to the assassin? One-shot. Rated T for language, sexual innuendo, and bosoms.


**The inspiration for this piece of brain fluff came from Kat Winter's story, "A Big Sword". The "I have a big sword" innuendo struck a chord with me and evolved into this.**

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><p><strong>Swordplay<strong>

Delilah, her hair still wet from her bath, tossed her pack on the ground and sat down by Samson; the mabari was stretched out, warming his belly by the fire. "Comfy?" she asked. Samson cracked one eye at her and wagged his tail. She reached over and scratched him affectionately. "You should really be ashamed you know, a big tough dog like you acting like such a baby over a bath." He gave a doggy grin and stretched out even further. A quick survey of the camp revealed that everyone was accounted for except Zevran, but she knew that he would put in an appearance. Bantering around the campfire had become their nightly routine. As she waited, Delilah dug in her pack, pulled out a clean rag and began toweling her hair dry.

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke the silence. "Ahh, there you are little one; I was getting concerned. After all, just how long can it take such a small Grey Warden to bathe?" Zevran settled himself next to Delilah and gave her a playful leer.

Delilah couldn't help but smile. When Zevran first began to call her _little one_, she found it irritating. However, she really couldn't dispute it; even though they were both elves, Zevran was the tallest of the two. After a while, the name grew on her and now she found it to be…endearing. Giving her hair one final swipe with the rag, she replied, "Actually, it doesn't take long at all for the Grey Warden to bathe. Bathing a reluctant mabari is the time-consuming part. However, you already know this since you were watching the whole time." She cocked an eyebrow at him and received a shrug in return.

"What can I say? My only concern was for your safety. Who knows what sort of bandits and hooligans lurk in these woods? Apparently, my stealth skills have gotten rusty in my time away from the Crows. I'll have to be more careful in the future." Delilah snorted. They both knew that his stealth skills still worked fine; she had only seen him because he wanted her to.

"_What_ are you wearing?" Zevran asked, reaching out to pluck at her sleeve. Wearing Wynne's robe made Delilah look like a child playing dress-up in her mother's clothes; the sleeves had been rolled up several times and were still too long.

"You know how Wynne is. She was afraid that I would get sick bathing in this weather; she insisted that I take this robe to keep me warm. It's too big, but I'm glad to have it. The robe is warm; the water most definitely was _not_." Delilah shivered as she remembered.

"I noticed," Zevran purred. "The cold did such lovely things to your nipples. It was _quite_ arousing."

Delilah blushed. "Zev! Have you no shame?

"Little one, you know me well enough to know that I do not." The look he gave her made her nipples grow hard again; she prayed that he wouldn't notice. "This outfit is…._adequate_, but I prefer the one you were wearing while you bathed."

"Thank you. It was a birthday gift from my parents – a one-of-a kind original."

"Your parents do nice work." Zevran ran his eyes over her slowly; Delilah knew that he was seeing her without the robe. His gaze stopped where her nipples had tented the fabric. "I am especially fond of the bosom." Damn. He noticed. He raised his eyes to hers; she turned away quickly, rummaging in her pack for a comb. He chuckled. Delilah found the comb and began dragging it through her hair, wincing as she encountered tangles.

"Don't you know you should never tug a comb through wet hair? You could damage it." Zevran moved behind her, took the comb and began working it carefully through her hair.

"Really? How do you know? Did you train as a stylist in case the whole assassin thing didn't work out?"

Zevran laughed. "You forget; I lived in a whore house until I was seven years old. The ladies frequently asked me to brush and comb their hair for them. They seemed to find it relaxing; they said that I was very good with my hands."

"Even at age seven? Impressive." Delilah sighed and closed her eyes as Zevran worked. The "ladies" were right; it _was_ relaxing to have someone comb her hair. She let his voice wash over her as he rambled on about more of his childhood exploits; she made non-committal noises periodically so he would know that she hadn't fallen asleep.

Delilah didn't know what had come over her. She had never been one to give her heart carelessly; such a serious decision was not one to make lightly. Yet somehow, the Antivan had gotten around her defenses; she had fallen for him the day they met. As he lay on the ground, trying to talk her out of killing him, her heart had melted. Now, she enjoyed their banter even while she knew that he flirted shamelessly with everyone. Recently though, she thought that she detected a hint of something a little more serious in his flirtations with her; maybe it was just wishful thinking. A sudden silence made her realize that she had apparently missed a key point in Zevran's conversation. "What?" she said with a start. "I'm sorry, I missed what you said." She wondered if maybe she _had_ fallen asleep for a moment.

"I said," Zevran repeated, an unusual tone in his voice, "that it appears that you can't take your eyes off of him."

"Him? Him who?" Delilah struggled to gather her thoughts, but they had scattered like dandelion seeds in the wind. Looking around, she noticed that Alistair had built a small fire away from everyone else, but directly in their line of sight. Apparently, Zevran thought that she had been watching Alistair instead of daydreaming; she thought that he sounded a little jealous. She decided to test her theory. "Alistair? Why shouldn't I watch him? He seems so lonely, so vulnerable. I think he needs a friend."

"A 'friend' is it? Is that what you call it? Tell me little one, what does he have that I do not? A bigger sword, perhaps?" He leaned forward until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her ear as he talked. He trailed his fingers gently down her neck, his touch sending tendrils of electricity through her body; she felt sure that it must be as visible as the lightning that flickered around her enchanted dagger.

Delilah gasped as Zevran moved his fingers and began trailing his lips down her neck. She managed to reply breathlessly, "You, of all people, should know that it is not the size of the sword that matters, but the skill with which it is wielded."

"Yes, that's true. A blade of any size can be magnificent in the hands of a master."

Delilah leaned back against Zevran, offering the rest of her body for exploration. "You seem confident in your abilities."

"I am an excellent swordsman, even if I do say so myself. Could I interest you in an introduction to some of the finer uses of the blade? I'm an exceptional instructor."

Delilah chuckled. "I thought you'd never ask. I'm no stranger to the sword, but I've never sparred with a partner with your expertise. Shall we retire to my tent for some...swordplay?"

Zevran gave her a wicked grin. "It would be my pleasure – and yours as well, I'm sure."

Rolling her eyes, Delilah nudged Samson with her foot; he was now on his back, all four feet in the air. "Wake up, fuzz face." He rolled over and looked up, instantly alert. "_You_ are sleeping outside tonight." He whined pathetically. "Oh, please. You'll be fine here by the fire." She glanced across the camp at Alistair, alone by his fire. "On second thought, why don't you go spend some time with Alistair? Some fuzz therapy would do him good." She knelt down and hugged the dog, who then turned and trotted to Alistair.

Zevran stood and pulled Delilah to her feet and asked, "What is 'fuzz therapy'?"

"That's what I call petting an animal, such as a cat or dog. It always helps me feel better when I'm down; it's a good stress reliever."

Zevran slid his arm around Delilah's waist as they walked to her tent. "I call it something else, but I too have always found pussies to be excellent stress relievers."

Delilah giggled. "I don't think we're talking about the same kind of pussies."

"Perhaps not, but they are all fuzzy aren't they? The result is the same."

The giggle turned into a laugh. "Zev, you're impossible."

Zevran held the tent flap open. As Delilah ducked inside, he replied "Oh no, little one. I assure you, I am quite possible." As he secured the flap behind them, he continued "Come, I will show you."

####

Delilah woke as Zevran tried to ease himself from her bed. "Where are you going?" she asked sleepily.

"Swordplay is over, little one. It's time for sleep."

"Stay with me. My bed is much nicer with you in it."

Zevran traced her face lightly with one finger as he considered. "I'll stay if I can rest my head on your lovely bosom while you tell me dirty bedtime stories."

"How about a compromise? I'll supply the bosom, you supply the bedtime stories."

"Deal." Zevran laid his head on Delilah's chest and lightly fondled her breasts as he began, "Once upon a time, there was a one-legged prostitute…"


End file.
